


Five Years Gone By and Things Left Unsaid

by lameassmadeupmaidenname



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameassmadeupmaidenname/pseuds/lameassmadeupmaidenname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irwin makes the first move, in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years Gone By and Things Left Unsaid

 Irwin sits in his flat, staring at the telephone. He reaches out, picks it up. He dials two numbers before hanging it up again.

He stands up and paces and tries to convince himself he's being ridiculous. It's perfectly reasonable that he wants to call and check in on former students. _Bollocks to that_ , he tells himself firmly. This is more than just _checking in on a former student_. If he wanted to do that, he would also be calling Posner, Scripps, Akthar, all the rest – not just Dakin. And not after five years of no communication whatsoever.

And here he is talking himself out of it again.

Irwin flops down in his chair again and goes back to staring at the telephone. Glaring at it, even.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Irwin says out loud, and picks up the phone. Dials.

It rings several times before an answering machine picks up. _Fuck bollocks shit_. Irwin hasn't planned for that.

“Hi, you've reached Stuart Dakin,” says the recorded message. The voice is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, taking Irwin back years, making him feel unbalanced, confused, terrified, exhilarated. He's forgotten the effect Dakin has on people – on him. The message continues: “I'm not in at the moment – leave me a message and I'll talk to you soon.” Dakin doesn't make any promises that he will, in fact, ever get back to the caller, only the vague indication of “talking to them later” – but then, Dakin never had been one for making false promises. Irwin was the one who did _that_.

The machine beeps, and Irwin realizes he needs to leave him a message, and he clears his throat. “Hello, it's Tom – it's Irwin, it's Tom Irwin.” _Fuck_. He'd started speaking too quickly, he hadn't thought about what to say. He clears his throat again. “I was just – ” _I was just thinking about you_ sounds so cliché. It's the truth, but Irwin can't bring himself to say it, so he changes tack. “I feel rather bad that we haven't spoken in so long. I'd quite fancy a chat, if you – if you were agreeable. Let me just give you my number – ” Irwin rattles off his phone number – he's less nervous now, gaining confidence. “You can give me a call whenever, if you feel like it.” He pauses again, unsure of how to wrap up. Perhaps he should say something more personal. _“I've missed you_ ”, maybe. It is true, after all.

But then again, perhaps not. “I'll speak with you soon, Dakin.” And he hangs up the phone.

\---

They meet for coffee on a Sunday. Dakin isn't late, he makes sure of that, but even so, Irwin is already waiting for him when he arrives.

Dakin's not sure what he'd been expecting. But Irwin, leaning across the counter to order his coffee – he hasn't seen Dakin yet – looks exactly the same, and a slight smile flits across Dakin's face. But Irwin looks somehow different, as well – at least he doesn't look like he wants everyone to glance past him without seeing him. Dakin supposes having a popular television show would do that to a man – Irwin speaks in front of thousands of viewers every week.

Dakin approaches him just as Irwin turns around, coffee in hand. “Hello!” Irwin says, looking a little startled, but covering nicely.

“Hi,” Dakin says, then offers his hand to Irwin, which he shakes. A handshake doesn't seem quite the right greeting, but Dakin can't think what else to do in this situation.

“You look good,” Irwin says. He gestures to his coffee. “Do you want something? I'm buying.”

“You don't have to – ”

“ _I'm buying_ ,” Irwin repeats firmly.

This new, more confident version of Irwin is a different experience for Dakin, and he's not entirely sure how to handle it. So for now, he goes along with it, and a few moments later they've settled at a table next to the window.

“So you've done well, I take it,” Dakin says. “I've seen your show. Watch it a lot, actually.”

“Do you really?” Irwin says, and he blushes slightly, which pleases Dakin – at least he can still make Irwin blush. Maybe he's not as foreign a man as Dakin thought. He wonders how foreign he himself seems to Irwin.

“I do,” says Dakin, not breaking Irwin's gaze as he sips his coffee.

Irwin eyes him appraisingly. “You have something to say.”

“Well I'm not sure it's really _history_ , your show, is it, sir?”

Irwin winces. “You really – don't need to call me that.” He pauses. “In fact I'd prefer it if you _didn't_ call me that.”

“Why not?” Dakin says. He knows perfectly well why not. But this is a stupid ploy to try to throw Irwin off – childish, really, he should be above it – but either way, it doesn't work. Irwin just gives him another _look_ , and doesn't press the matter.

\---

“Why not?” Dakin says, and there's a slight challenge in his voice, his tone just a bit harsh. Irwin had thought, at first, that Dakin had matured in the past five years. He does appear more man than boy now; he holds himself no less confidently, but far less cocksure.

And yet here he is, trying, in the same way he had years ago, to get under Irwin's skin. Irwin doesn't rise to the bait, and _that_ , at least, leaves Dakin wrong-footed. He quails a little under Irwin's gaze and looks almost ashamed of himself.

“What would you call the show, if not history?” Irwin says, as if nothing had happened.

“I don't know,” Dakin says, staring at his coffee cup glumly as if he's a child who's just been reprimanded. “It's a bit flashy, isn't it? Glamorous?” He looks up at Irwin again, meeting his eyes firmly, the challenge still there, but Irwin no longer feels like he's being attacked. “It's like how you teach – truth doesn't matter, it's all in the presentation?”

“I got you into Oxford, didn't I?” Irwin says, nettled.

Dakin smiles slightly. “Yes. I wasn't having a go at you.” He takes a sip of coffee, blows out a heavy sigh, gazes out the window. “You make people think, if nothing else.” He looks back at Irwin. “You make _me_ think.”

Dakin's gaze feels like a weight pressing down on Irwin, and Irwin shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well,” he finally says. “That was the point.”

The silence hangs heavy in the air between them, feelings that Irwin doesn't know how to express, words he isn't sure he wants to say, and Dakin's just sitting there looking at him. Finally Irwin clears his throat, manages to speak. “So, er – have you kept in touch with – Scripps, Posner – any of the others?”

Dakin sits back in his seat, accepting that Irwin has diverted the conversation out of dangerous waters. “Scripps, yeah,” he says. “I saw him just a few days ago, actually. As for the others – I've sort of lost touch. Not purposely, but...” Dakin shrugs, as if to say – _it happens_.

“No, no, I understand,” Irwin says. Irwin knows well enough that people change. They grow apart from people they used to be close to – people who used to have so much in common find they have nothing to interest one another anymore.

\---

“No, no, I understand,” Irwin says, and he seems to wilt into himself.

Dakin sighs inwardly – he doesn't know what he's done to make Irwin retreat. Despite all appearances and attempts to the contrary, clearly Irwin's as insecure as ever – maybe just hides it a little better. At the end of the day, people don't change _that_ much.

What Dakin really wants is for them to stop dancing around the subject. He wants them to talk candidly, not like this, like they hardly know each other. Like they hardly _like_ each other. It's not as if they don't know what's _there_. Although – it's been five years. Maybe they _don't_ know.

But they'll never find out if they keep sitting here like this, stiff and uncomfortable. Dakin heaves a huge sigh, slams his hands down onto the table, and stands up. “Are you done with your coffee?” he demands of Irwin. Then immediately continues – “Doesn't matter. Let's go.”

“Why?” Irwin looks bewildered. “Where are we going?”

“Doesn't matter,” Dakin says again. “Just – ” He beckons impatiently, before turning to walk out the door.

Irwin follows Dakin out onto the street, half-jogging to catch up. “Where are you taking me, Dakin?”

Dakin points down the street, before shoving his hands back into his pockets. “There's a park up here. I thought we might just – walk for a bit.” Dakin glances at Irwin, who looks relieved at the idea – Dakin wonders if it was the constant eye contact that was making him nervous. Dakin likes eye contact because he finds it easier to read the truth in people's faces when they're not speaking their minds, but Irwin's never been that way – always shied away when the pressure of Dakin's eyes got too much. Anyway, Dakin's not hugely picky; if Irwin's more comfortable this way, then that's fine with him.

Dakin pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offers one to Irwin. Irwin takes a cigarette with fingers that don't shake, and Dakin fumbles slightly as he tries to light it while walking.

After lighting his own cigarette, Dakin blows out a puff of smoke and says, “Why didn't you ever go back to teaching, anyway?”

Irwin, looking a little surprised by the question, pauses before he answers. “I dunno, really,” he says finally. “I suppose life just took me elsewhere.”

“It wasn't me scared you off, then, was it?”

Irwin gives him that look that's half-amused, half-exasperated. “It wasn't anything to do with you, Dakin. Believe it or not, the world does not, in fact, revolve around you.”

“I realize that, actually,” Dakin says. When Irwin looks disbelieving, Dakin gets defensive. Here he is trying to display some humility, and Irwin doesn't even believe him. “I do!” Dakin insists.

“Right,” Irwin says, still amused. “As long as you understand _that_.” After a pause, amusement drops from Irwin's face and he takes a deep breath. “I don't quite know what it was... that made me stop teaching. I don't think it had anything to do with you. But it may have had everything to do with you.”

At that Dakin stops walking and stares at Irwin. Irwin, once he realizes Dakin isn't with him anymore, turns around. “What?” Irwin says.

“Did you like teaching?” Dakin demands.

“Yes,” Irwin says.

“Then why the fuck would you quit?” Dakin says. “Why would you let – "

Irwin interrupts him. “It wasn't anything you did.” He shrugs. “I honestly don't know what it was – I was a bit lost. Back then.”

Dakin takes the few paces forward to reach Irwin's side again, and they continue walking. “Are you happy? Now?”

Another pause. “Yeah,” Irwin says. “Yeah, I am, quite.”

They reach the park – it's fairly empty, aside from a family with two children playing in the grass. Dakin leads Irwin in the other direction.

“I haven't asked you anything about _you_ ,” Irwin says suddenly.

“Oh, yeah, well.” Dakin fidgets, taking a drag on his cigarette and shrugging with one shoulder. “I've done all right – I _was_ happy at Oxford, by the way, as you predicted – ”

“Yes, as I predicted,” Irwin says with a smile. He sits down on a bench, crosses his legs, and looks up at Dakin. “What about now, what are you up to?”

Dakin sits down next to Irwin – somehow Irwin's taking a lot of space, his arms resting on the back of the bench. It's a little strange; usually Dakin's the one taking up space. “I'm a tax lawyer, actually – or trying to be. The job I've got right now isn't great. But I think something's about to open up.”

“That's good!” Irwin says, and he sounds like a teacher again – encouraging a student to dream big, think outside the box. And despite himself – despite his own attempts to put Irwin out of his comfort zone earlier – now Dakin feels uncomfortable. They're not teacher and student anymore.

\---

“That's good!” Irwin says, and he genuinely means it, but for some reason Dakin frowns. Irwin finishes his cigarette and drops the butt on the ground. “What?”

Dakin rubs a hand across his chin, then turns to Irwin, looking him in the eyes. “Listen, can we – "

“ _What_?” Irwin presses.

“Let's not pretend we don't know why we're here,” Dakin says bluntly. “All this small talk, why? Who do you think you're fooling? Certainly not me.”

“I'm not trying to _fool_ anyone,” Irwin says, annoyed again.

“I was surprised when you called me,” Dakin says, talking over him. “I didn't think you'd be the one to do it.”

This is familiar, Dakin's thoughts, and likewise, their conversation, moving so quickly Irwin has to race to catch up. And the slight irritation mixed with curiosity that comes with it – Dakin is nothing if not stimulating conversation.

“Do what?” Irwin says, resigned to the fact that Dakin has to fill him in.

“Call. Make the first move. I thought I'd be the one to do that.”

“Right, and you definitely would have.”

“I would have, actually.”

Dakin's still looking him dead in the eyes, not a trace of a laugh on his face – he's not lying. Irwin looks across the park to the children playing. “Why didn't you, then?”

“I dunno. Busy, I suppose.”

Irwin clicks his tongue dismissively, shaking his head.

“Why don't you believe me?” Dakin says, his voice edging into a whine. Not childish, just upset.

“Because you'd have done it by now, surely.”

“Why didn't _you_ do it sooner, then?” Dakin snaps.

Irwin doesn't have a response for that. He'd imagined that Dakin was braver than Irwin, so if he'd wanted to call he'd have done it. But he's not going to say that. “I don't know. I just...” He clears his throat and decides to let that point lie. “I've, er, been thinking about you a lot.”

“Lately?”

“For the past five years,” Irwin says frankly. He looks back up at Dakin, gives him a small smile. Dakin smiles back, perhaps glad of the fact that Irwin's stopped being evasive. “I have a question for you now,” Irwin says.

“Yeah?”

“What if we had met up?” It's something Irwin's been thinking about, again, for the past five years. “That Sunday, what if it had actually happened?”

A slow, wry smile spreads across Dakin's face. “So we're back in the subjunctive, are we?”

“Apparently so. Apparently that's all we've ever been.”

Dakin stands up, paces a bit, kicking at the dirt. “It's hard to tell, isn't it?” he says. “I can tell you what I _thought_ would have happened. I can't tell you what would have _actually_ happened.”

“Obviously not,” Irwin says impatiently.

Dakin rubs the back of his neck. “I thought that'd be the end of it.” He looks almost apologetic. “I _actually_ thought you'd suck me off and we'd go our separate ways and I'd never have to think about you again.”

“So it _didn't_ mean anything,” Irwin says, and it feels like confirmation of something he's known for a long time.

“But that's the thing!” Dakin looks agitated; he sits back down next to Irwin. “It did, you see, it _did_!” His hand is on Irwin's thigh, squeezing, desperate for his full attention – Irwin's breath catches as he looks at Dakin's hand, then back up at Dakin. “I mean, why have I been thinking about you for all this time?” Dakin says.

Irwin stammers for a moment before managing – “An unsatisfying conclusion?”

Dakin laughs, nervous laughter. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Like the _fucking_ first World War.”

Irwin raises his eyebrows. “I'm surprised you remember that.”

“But that was a cliché, wasn't it? _Everyone_ says the first World War had an unsatisfying conclusion – we can be more creative than that.”

Dakin's hand is still on Irwin's thigh. “I suppose it doesn't really matter if it's cliché if it's the truth,” Irwin says quietly.

“So you see it had to happen,” Dakin says. _Fuck_ , he's staring at Irwin's lips, and Irwin _wishes_ he'd take his hand away.

“What did?”

“This, now.” Dakin removes his hand, finally. He settles back against the bench, looking up at the sky.

“So what you're getting at,” Irwin says slowly, “is that this is World War II?”

Dakin bursts out laughing. “Yeah,” he says, looking at Irwin with some kind of immense affection that takes Irwin's breath away in a mess of confusion and exhilaration. “Yeah, that's exactly what this is.”

“Or perhaps that's a bad metaphor,” Irwin says.

Dakin nods. “Probably.” He glances at his watch and jumps, swearing.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Irwin says.

“Yeah. Fuck. Job interview.” Dakin stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I really don't – I don't _want_ to leave right now,” he says, a little plaintively. “But I... fuck, I've said what needs to be said, haven't I?”

Irwin's never seen Dakin look this worried, even before his exams. When everyone else gets anxious, nervous, Dakin puts huge amounts of effort into appearing relaxed, like he doesn't care. And now here he is, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, awaiting Irwin's validation. Well. That last part _isn't_ new.

“Listen,” Irwin says, standing too. “I'll give you a call soon. If that's what you want.”

“Jesus, please do,” Dakin says. A hesitant smile crosses his face. “And don't wait so long this time. I can call you if you think you won't do it.”

Irwin smiles. “I'll call.”

“When?” Dakin presses.

Irwin rolls his eyes. “Do you want me to write it into my schedule?”

Dakin laughs then. “All right, all right, I don't want to be like that. Just do it, okay?” He claps Irwin on the shoulder, then he turns and starts to trudge off.

Irwin takes a couple steps in the other direction, before he turns and calls out to Dakin. “I was just sort of wondering...”

Dakin turns around, raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Is that offer to suck you off still on the table?” Irwin asks, moving closer to Dakin as he speaks.

Dakin closes the distance between them. “Might be,” he says evasively, grinning. Not evasively. Flirtatiously. “Can I try something?”

“What?” Irwin says.

Dakin leans forward, just slightly, and when Irwin doesn't pull away, Dakin kisses him on the lips. It's a chaste kiss, but it makes Irwin gasp anyway, and it's over before Irwin quite has the chance to take it in.

“You know,” Dakin says thoughtfully, “I think we're well past sucking me off. I think maybe you should fuck me. If you wanted.”

“Well,” Irwin says, a little speechless, breathless, but trying to find words anyway, “I can't really – I don't think I can say _no_ to that.”

“Good,” Dakin says. His eyes meet Irwin's, his gaze still heavy, but he's looking at him in such a way that Irwin doesn't mind at all. “I'm impressed, by the way.”

“With what?” Irwin says.

“That you managed to be such a _fucking_ cliché.”

“Is that so impressive?”

“Well, you try so hard not to be,” Dakin says. “So congratulations. You're a cliché. A fucking honest cliché.”

Irwin decides to take this as a compliment. “Thank you,” he says.

Dakin smiles, a satisfied smile, and glances at his watch again. “ _Shit_ ,” he says, his satisfied expression melting into slight panic. “I really have to go. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” Irwin says. “I'll give you a call later.”

Dakin is walking backwards away from Irwin. “If you don't do it – ”

“I'm not going to blow you off this time,” Irwin assures him. “It's going to happen.”

“I'd like to believe you,” Dakin says. “I really would like to believe you.” Dakin is still smiling, though, as he turns and walks away.

Irwin is left alone with his thoughts, gazing fondly at Dakin as he goes. He's not upset that Dakin doesn't quite believe him; if he were Dakin, he wouldn't believe him either. But the fact that Dakin's willing to put a little trust in him means more than Irwin thought it would – and he refuses to let him down again.

But as Irwin walks back to his own flat, the past is the furthest thing from his mind. Best not to dwell on the baggage between himself and Dakin – the history is important, but at this point it's only a foundation. His relationship with Dakin now is different, more different than either of them probably realize at this point, and he can't hold them back by thinking about the way that they were; the past is unchangeable. What matters is what's to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always so late coming into fandoms but here we are, a fanfic for an 8-year-old film (10-year-old play wow). This was just a little plot bunny I had, I hope it was enjoyable enough. Everyone needs closure for these two, right??


End file.
